Hypodermic
by WrittenAnonymous
Summary: He wore expensive clothes, and the band adorned with the Potter crest gleamed on his ring finger. Dark circles stood out against his pale flesh, and glasses sat askew on his nose. Bedraggled, overgrown hair stuck to his forehead with dry sweat. The only thing about him that still looked alive were his eyes, green like new spring grass. "Sister," he said, "it's been so long."


**Hypodermic**

 _ **Chapter One:**_

 _October 2031_

Lily Potter covered her eyes as a crowd of photographers descended upon her. Journalists shoved their way through the horde, parchment and quills bobbing along beside them. Shouts echoed in her ears. "Miss Potter, did you know your brother had been hiding out all this time?" or "Lily, is your brother in cahoots with the trade?" and lastly, "Is it true that Harry Potter faked his own son's death to protect the family name?"

Lily's head snapped up at the last allegation, her eyes flashing. She opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted when she saw a dark mop of hair making its way through the mass. Soon, her oldest brother had his arm slung across her shoulders and Lily was being led from the crowd. At the edge of the throng of reporters, they were greeted by several aurors who kept the _Daily Prophet_ minions contained as James Potter led Lily down the long and otherwise deserted corridor of the Atrium.

The siblings travelled in silence, knowing better than to speak of such matters when there could be prying ears in the vicinity. They passed the golden statue and through the golden gates, where they were solemnly greeted by the wizards at the security stands. After their wands were registered, they boarded the lifts and James punched the lightning bolt button, which illuminated when the pad of his finger came in contact with it. They were jerked up, down, to the left, and to the right before the elevator paused, only to drop several feet before stopping once more. The doors slid open, and they stepped into their father's office.

Harry Potter had a magnificently plush office, and that was not counting its private lift system that only granted immediate access from the Atrium to Harry, his family, and his closest confidants. Near the lifts were two large grey sofas parallel to each other, separated by a shiny black granite coffee table shaped as a lightning bolt. The stone walls were adorned with several big, golden plaques, and on the side of the office opposite of the lift, a huge tank of grindylows made up the back wall. In the middle of the office was a great desk, also made of black granite, and behind it was a large cushy chair, upholstered with red velvet and embellished with gold hardware. It had its perks, being the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

Lily and James were immediately greeted by several Ministry officials. James was distracted by a _Prophet_ journalist who had managed to slip past security, but Lily made a beeline toward her father, who looked relieved when he saw his youngest child approaching. "Oh, good," he sighed. "You're safe. The _Prophet_ is out for blood." He glanced uncomfortably toward the elevator, where James was manhandling a skinny man dressed in a bowler hat and suspenders into the lift.

Harry rubbed his eyes. His dark hair was remarkably disastrous, flat against one side of his head like he hadn't had time to brush it that morning. His white collared shirt was untucked and stained with coffee, and cigarette smoke rolled off him in waves.

In the reflection of his glasses, Lily could see herself. She wore her hair long, her bangs cut across her forehead and falling into her big blue eyes. Freckles smattered her cheeks and nose. Her own glasses, beige and brown speckled things, took up the better portion of her face. It seemed more apparent in that moment than ever how much weight she had lost since Albus's funeral; her pastel pink shirt fell over her torso in ripples, the hem brushing her at mid-thigh. The pants she wore were black and stretchy, which only seemed to emphasize her chicken legs.

Lily allowed her father to embrace her before she pulled away, sparing a glance at her mother who stood several feet from them, speaking adamantly with a security wizard. She was gesturing wildly toward the journalist, who James was still struggling to force into the elevator. The security wizard was nodding, wide-eyed and pale.

Lily met her father's gaze once more. "Is it true? Has he been sighted? Dad, they are already saying–lying–"

"I know," Harry said quietly. His glasses were sliding down his nose. "I have already heard the rumors. Where is James? Ah." Lily still stared intently at her father's face, but she could hear the journalist's stream of profanity fading away as the elevator carried him back toward the Atrium, so she presumed her brother had succeeded. With a jerk of his head, Harry gestured for his oldest son to join them, and within seconds, James stood beside Lily again.

"Dad, do you hear what they're saying about us? I thought these were people we could trust–" James began tensely. Lily's eyes flickered to her brother, and recognition shot through her veins like electricity. Lily had not seen James since the funeral three months prior; he resided in Dorset and rarely returned home since he had been drafted by Puddlemere United. He was bulkier than the last time she saw him, his face more angular. James's usual pale complexion was darker, and his hands calloused. Though looking tousled from sleep, he was healthy. His band engraved with the Potter crest wrapped around his ring finger, and Lily's body seemed to deflate. She twisted her own ring around her finger anxiously.

"You must listen very closely," Harry said quietly, his eyes scanning the room. Despite looking as if he had never seen daylight, his green eyes were bright with life. "Until this is all sorted, nowhere is safe. There are people in the Ministry who do not understand the complexity and the severity of what is being dealt with."

"Dad," James said softly. "Is Albus alive?"

Harry exhaled slowly. "There is no definite proof."

There was a commotion near the elevator. A man was being patted down at the door by several security wizards, his hands raised above his head exasperatedly. Harry looked livid. "Stop! _Stop!_ That is my son," he snapped, striding past Lily and James.

Teddy Lupin arrived looking battered and beaten. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes and his white cotton shirt was stained with baby puke. Red flannel pajama bottoms poked out at the waistband of his jeans. His sandy hair was as unkempt as his godfather's, looking as though it had not been washed in several days. "Harry," he said, looking around the room, his hazel eyes searching for something. "Where is he?"

There was a click and flash amongst the crowd of people, and a reporter's voice rang out. "Mr. Lupin, how do you feel about Albus Potter's apparent resurrection? As a new father, would you consider faking your own child's death to flimsily disguise his taint–"

James, already riled from having removed the last trespasser, tore across the room and pounced on the reporter. Flashes from the photographer illuminated the room with white-blue light, and Lily's hands flew to her mouth as she watched James's fist come in contact with the reporter's jaw. The reporter was short and stocky, disguised in Ministry robes. His floating notepad and quill bobbed beside him violently as he reached up and planted a blow on the left side of James's face.

In her peripheral, Lily could see the photographer slipping past the group of shocked Ministry officials and toward the elevator, tucking her camera beneath her robes. Impulsively, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at her. _"Stupefy!"_ she shouted, and the photographer blasted backward, slamming painfully against the wall. The camera flew from her robes, and Lily whipped her wand in its direction. _"Reducto!"_ The camera exploded in midair, leaving nothing but cloud of smoke in its place.

The silence that followed was suffocating. James was being restrained by Harry and Teddy, but had given up trying to free himself. "Lily Luna," Ginny gasped, and Lily spun to face her mother, whose freckled face had lost all color. Ginny Weasley-Potter had once been a small, slender woman with perfect milky flesh and vibrant red hair. Since news of her youngest son's death reached her, she had gained several pounds and adopted a sallow, pale complexion. Her fiery locks had turned brassy, and hung in wispy strands down her back.

Stricken, Lily pocketed her wand and darted toward the door that would grant her access to the rest of the department. Ginny was quick to follow, but Harry insisted that she let Lily be alone. Her back against the office door, Lily could hear the uproar from within. Harry's voice, strong and even, broke through the chaos. "Assure that the trespassers face proper consequences. Return home and make yourselves presentable. The damage has been done tonight. The only the we can do now is return in the morning and make a press statement."

Lily's stomach turned, and she began to walk quickly down the large hall of cubicles, her eyes sliding past cluttered desks and mismatched chairs. It had been months since she had visited the Ministry, and even longer since she had been anywhere inside it apart from the Atrium or her father's office. Scrolls of parchment littered every surface, and forgotten quills still resided in bottles of ink. Against the length of the wall was a bulletin board, stapled with photos of dark wizards that had yet to be captured. As Lily approached the back of the corridor, she could make out a desk lamp that was still illuminated behind a cubicle wall.

Lily clenched her teeth in annoyance. She continued toward the light purposefully, pushing her glasses higher up her nose. As she rounded the corner to the opening of the cubicle, she said, "You can't be here. It's past office hours. You should go home–" Her feet planted themselves flat against the floor, causing her body to sway where she stood.

A young man with platinum blonde hair sat in a battered leather rolling chair. He leaned back in it, one arm extended and resting against his desk, a quill gripped between his fingers. He directed his eyes toward her, the back of his head resting against the base of the chair. He raised one blonde eyebrow, appraising her. "I can't leave. Your father treats me like a fucking slave," he stated, deadpan.

Lily sighed. "Scorpius."

"He gave me this chair, though," Scorpius said. "That was nice of him."

Despite his casual tone and loose posture, Lily felt trapped under his gaze. He looked at her as he always had: penetratingly. His gray eyes never left her blue ones, but all at once, he was watching her every action, gauging every reaction. He looked different from the last time she saw him. His jaw was more angular, and his cheekbones more pronounced. His long, lanky body had filled out, and now he was possessed by wiry muscle. Swirling ink covered his left arm, and Lily desperately tried to decipher the image without gawking.

"You didn't come to the funeral," Lily blurted.

Scorpius exhaled slowly as he stood up and reached for the heathered gray hoodie that hung from a peg on his cubicle wall. He shrugged into it, zipping it high enough that it revealed just the collar of the white cotton shirt he wore. "You're observant. Let me walk you out. God knows the _Prophet_ is out for blood these days."

"Isn't it always?" Lily muttered darkly.

Scorpius chuckled as they made their way back toward the front of the corridor. "About a year ago, I read that you dropped out of St. Mungos and started prostituting yourself exclusively to the goblin community."

"I had to find someway to replenish the money Albus stole from me," Lily responded.

Scorpius stopped walking. "Lily," he said. "I was joking."

Lily was several feet ahead of him now. She turned to face him. "I don't think the slandering of my family is funny, Scorpius," she said seriously. "If you had thought to ask, you would know that allegation nearly cost me my internship at St. Mungos." Her body felt very tight, like she might combust. "But just like everyone else, you were either daft enough to believe it or careless enough to think it funny."

Scorpius was silent.

"You didn't come to the funeral," she repeated. Lily gave him a moment to respond, and when he didn't, she turned on her heel and walked the remaining distance to her father's office, where she opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her without checking to see if Scorpius had followed.

 **A/N:**

 **Alright, y'all. Want to hear a funny story? A year ago, I was on a plane home from Europe. I struck up a conversation with someone about Fanfiction. And** _ **guess what**_ **. She had read one of my Fanfictions.**

" **Have you ever heard of My Devotion?" she says, and I basically lose my shit. The end.**

 **Anyway. You may have noticed I took down the Prologue I already posted alone with this story. Disregard that. It is no longer relevant to this story. Ah, yes, the beautiful process of revision. Hope you enjoyed. Hope you guys are enjoying Cursed Child more than I did.**

 **Leave me a review, because I really appreciate your feedback.**


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